


A Patchwork Family: Other Forces

by Lbilover



Series: A Patchwork Family Series [14]
Category: The Lord of the Rings - All Media Types
Genre: Healing, Hurt/Comfort, Illnesses, M/M, POV Outsider
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-03-03
Updated: 2017-03-03
Packaged: 2018-09-28 00:31:20
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,071
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10059086
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Lbilover/pseuds/Lbilover
Summary: Frodo falls ill while Sam is away from home.





	

_Astron, S.R. 1428_

I’ve been a healer for nigh on fifty years now, and in that time, I’ve seen my share of queer happenings: hobbits as should have died but didn’t, and hobbits as should have lived but didn’t. It ain’t always a healer’s skill that makes the difference, I’ve learned. There are other forces at work, forces of the heart and mind and spirit that can send a hobbit past recalling, or bring him back when it seems as if there’s no hope left.

I’d just left Primrose Bellows’s lying in—her first babe, a lusty boy with as powerful a set of lungs as I’ve ever heard—and was walking home when young Theo Sandheaver came running up all out of breath.

‘Mr. Frodo’s sick,’ Theo said. ‘Mistress Ruby, you’ve got to come up to Bag End right away. He’s got a fever and he’s coughing something terrible.’ He looked pale and scared. ‘Sam’s off in Michel Delving. I’ve sent a message to him, but I daren’t wait for him to return.’

‘You did right to fetch me, never doubt it,’ I said soothingly. ‘’Tis what Sam would have wanted you to do.’

‘But not Frodo,’ Theo confessed, sounding troubled. ‘He didn’t want me to bother you. But I didn’t know what else to do, with Sam away. Frodo seemed so much worse this morning. Oh Mistress Ruby, if anything were to happen to Frodo and Sam not here…’ His voice faltered.

I put a hand on his shoulder—poor lad, it was shaking. ‘Now, Theo, you know Mr. Frodo is a strong, healthy hobbit. Don’t go borrowing trouble if it ain’t needed.”

I recollect well how in the months after him and Sam returned from their journey Mr. Frodo was pale and peaky, and took a few bad turns—though I was never called on to treat him. Sam seemingly knew the nature of his illness and cared for Mr. Frodo himself. And such care he did take, as if Mr. Frodo were made of the most precious metal and jools, like old Mr. Bilbo’s corslet in the Mathom-house. Everyone remarked on it.

But in the years since, I’ve seen Mr. Frodo more times than I can number, walking about the countryside with his little dog, and looking fit as a fiddle. Why, a few winters back when the whole village (or so it seemed to me as had to treat them) came down with the ague, Mr. Frodo was in and out of every hole a dozen times, visiting those who were poorly, and never did I hear him so much as sneeze.

‘I’ll try, Mistress Ruby,’ Theo promised. ‘But Frodo got wet through, and I was worried he might catch a chill, and now he has, and Huan is worried, too, and he _always_ knows when something is bad wrong, and…’

Theo’s words tumbled over each other, and didn’t seem like to stop, so I said quickly, ‘How did Mr. Frodo get himself wet through? It ain’t rained in over a week.’

Theo told me that three days earlier, out on his walk, Mr. Frodo had come on a lamb that was trying to get itself drownded in a pond, and he’d gone into the water and fetched it out. Well, if you ask me, April ain’t no time of year to go swimming in no ponds, and Theo may think Mr. Frodo’s a hero and the kindest-hearted hobbit as ever drew breath, but in my opinion, he’d have done better to let the fool thing drown—not that I said that to Theo, of course, for despite his worry, I could tell the lad was fair bursting his buttons with pride. ‘Tis plain the lad thinks the sun rises and sets on Frodo Baggins, same as Sam does.

We made our way through the village and up the Hill Lane, walking quick as we might, but it wasn’t quick enough for Theo. That lad was so anxious he’d have flown if he could have grown wings like a bird. By the time we got to the top of the lane, I don’t mind saying that I’ve felt sprightlier, but Bag End is a sight as does a body good to see, especially in the springtime. There’s no finer hole in the Shire, I reckon, nor no gardener the equal of our Sam. Already there was flowers busting out everywhere, and the tree in the Party Field that he brought back from foreign parts was covered with golden blossoms.

We found Mr. Frodo in his study, huddled up in a chair afore the fire with a blanket around his shoulders. I could see straight off how flushed his cheeks were, and not, I was certain, from the fire. His little dog was there, of course, leaning against his legs with his head on Mr. Frodo’s knee and his eyes fixed on his face.

‘Good day to you, Mr. Frodo,’ I said.

At the sound of my voice he started and looked up. Those big eyes of his, so blue you could fancy a bit of the summer sky was in them, were fever-bright, glittering as they shouldn’t have been.

‘Mistress Ruby,’ he said polite-like, and ever the gentlehobbit started to rise, but a fit of coughing took him, and he sank back. Huan whined and put a paw on Mr. Frodo’s leg, and I reckon Theo was right: that dog was saying ‘something’s very wrong’, plain as plain. Well, I didn’t like the sound of that cough either, not no way. It was rattling around in his chest as if it had taken hold down deep.

I was at his side in a trice, and put an arm around his shoulders. ‘Begging your pardon, Mr. Frodo, but you belong in bed. You’re burning up with fever, sir.’ And he was, his body felt hot as a forge-fire under my arm.

‘Nonsense, there’s nothing wrong—‘ he began, but another spasm of coughing took him. When it passed, he said weakly, ‘Perhaps you’re right, Mistress Ruby. I seem to have taken a little chill.’ His gaze went to Theo, who was naught but a bundle of worry, his face all twisted up with it. ‘But I’ve no doubt I’ll be right as rain again by tomorrow.’

‘We’ll see, Mr. Frodo,’ I said, for it don’t do to raise false hopes, and it would take more than a day or even two for Mr. Frodo to shake that cough, or my name ain’t Ruby Gladstone. ‘Now up you get, sir.’

Theo hurried to his other side, and together we got Mr. Frodo to his feet and helped him down to his bedroom, for he was weak as a kitten, and despite the fever, shivering and shaking. I’ll not deny it felt a bit queer to be in that room, seeing as how Mr. Frodo shares it with Sam Gamgee—which ain’t no secret, and I won’t stand accused of spreading tales, for a gossipmonger I ain’t, nor ever have been. You hear and see plenty when you’re a healer, and you’d best mind your own business if you expect folk to trust you. Any road, Mr. Frodo was sick, and with Sam gone to Michel Delving, it was up to me to help him.

I got Mr. Frodo changed into a nightshirt and settled in his bed—and such a bed it is, with a feather tick thick and soft as a cloud—then I sent Theo off to the kitchen to fetch hot water while I took what supplies I needed from my satchel and laid them out on top of the dresser.

When I turned round again, Huan was on the bed, stretched out along Mr. Frodo’s side as if to warm him. I don’t hold with animals in a sickroom in the general way. It don’t seem healthy to me. But there’s no separating Mr. Frodo and Huan, and if I’d tried I’d surely have failed.

But it ain’t only that. Them other forces I mentioned? Well, when Mr. Frodo comes to call on my patients, he always brings Huan with him, and time and again I’ve seen that little dog cheer up even the sickest, saddest hobbit. Better than a tonic, he is, and I’m always that grateful when he and Mr. Frodo visit. He has a kind of, well, magic about him, as you might say. Leastways, he ain’t no ordinary dog, and there’s not a hobbit in these parts has forgotten what happened that night down by the Water.

~*~

It was Sam Gamgee who opened my eyes to the healing virtue of kingsfoil. A weed with no value in the sickroom or kitchen I’d been taught, but I know different now. ‘Tis scarce in these parts, but I get my supply of the herb from Sam himself. It comes from the south, he tells me, and has the blessing of the King on it—if you can believe it, which I scarce can. But the sweet smell of it eases mind and body like nothing I’ve ever seen, and maybe that’s our King’s doing.

I filled a basin with the steaming water Theo had brought, and crumbled a dried leaf of the precious herb into it. I use them sparingly as I can, and such is the virtue of kingsfoil that one leaf seems to work as well as half a dozen of any other herb. I breathed deep of the steam that rose from the basin, and though I’d been up all night with Primrose, I felt my tiredness drop away, like as if I’d replaced a soiled garment with one freshly laundered.

‘ _Athelas_ ,’ Mr. Frodo murmured.

I knew what he meant, for Sam had told me the herb’s different names. ‘Aye, Mr. Frodo, ‘tis _athelas_ ,’ I said.

I carried the basin over to the bed. Mr. Frodo was sitting up against the pillows with his right hand pressed against his left shoulder. It was his maimed hand, and it always gives me a queer sort of thrill when I see it, for he’d lost his third finger, so the story went, in a battle with the Dark Lord in his tower.

‘It makes me think of Strider, Sam, and the _athelas_ he used to bathe my wound,’ he said in a faraway voice.

‘Sam ain’t here right now, Mr. Frodo,’ I told him, gentle as I could, but I didn’t like that he was wandering in his mind.

Mr. Frodo started and dropped his hand to his lap. ‘Of course,’ he replied, coming back to himself. ‘My mind drifted off, I’m afraid. I beg your pardon, Mistress Ruby.’

‘Sam will be here soon, Frodo,’ Theo said. But it would be three days at least afore Sam could reach Bag End and that if he left Michel Delving soon as he got the message, and rode hard without stopping save to change ponies. A powerful lot, for good or bad, might happen in that time.

‘No doubt he’ll scold me for my foolishness when he arrives,” Mr. Frodo said wryly, ‘but I will be very glad to see him.’ And then he fell into a fit of coughing again, drowning out Theo’s protest.

After that, I was kept right busy, and Theo, too. He’s a good, sensible lad with a steady hand, and I was glad of his help. There were some as said Sam and Mr. Frodo did wrong to bring a strange lad from Buckland to prentice at Bag End, instead of choosing someone from Hobbiton or Bywater. But let a one of them say a word against Theo in my hearing, and they’ll get what-for, I can tell you.

~*~

I examined Mr. Frodo carefully, and listening to his lungs, I didn’t like what I heard. The chill he’d caught was lodged in his chest, and I knew we had a fight on our hands. I was going to need help, that was plain, for Mr. Frodo couldn’t be left alone until the crisis passed. But I had other patients down in the village that needed me, too, and it didn’t sit right with me to leave young Theo, reliable as he was, to tend to Mr. Frodo all on his own when I was away. So a message was sent off to Sam’s sister Marigold, and Tom Cotton drove her up to Bag End a few hours later, and put her things in a spare bedroom, and she stayed.

Mr. Frodo held his own through the night, but as the next day went on, I couldn’t see no real sign of improvement. He drifted in and out of wakefulness, and there were times he asked for Sam, or seemed to be lost in some memory of their journey and talked as if Sam were right there beside him. I’ll not deny there were times I felt tears prickling my eyes as I listened, for he’d suffered cruelly, that was plain, and his talk was all of fire and ash and a terrible weight dragging him down. But as he was burning up with fever, I suppose it’s no surprise.

Theo said in a hushed voice, ‘He thinks he’s back in Mordor with Sam.’

Mordor. The very sound of the word is evil, and I shuddered, even though Sam says the Dark Tower was thrown down and there’s naught left in that vile place for us to fear no more.

Like I said, I don’t hold with animals in a sickroom in the general way, but the way Huan was with Mr. Frodo was an eye opener and no mistake. Such devotion from a dumb animal I ain’t never seen afore, nor ever will, I reckon. He never left Mr. Frodo’s side, save when Theo took him away to feed and walk him. And to tell truth, I soon grew right glad of his presence, for I vow that little dog knew afore Mr. Frodo did himself when a coughing fit was coming on, or an attack of fever or chills. Quick enough I learned to watch Huan like a hawk, and take my cue from his behaviour and have what was needed ready at hand.

A second day slowly passed and turned into a third. To my great worry, though Mr. Frodo’s coughing eased a little, his fever grew steadily worse, despite every bit of healer’s knowledge and skill I possessed. By the morning of the third day, he didn’t recognise us no more but roamed in some fever dream. He called out for Sam time and time again, sometimes in a faint and mournful voice, sometimes in a desperate and fearful cry that sent shivers through me.

During the worst of it, Huan was the only one who could settle him and bring his spirit ease. I had the queer fancy, as the hours passed, that Huan was like a rope thrown to a drowning hobbit, for there were times Mr. Frodo held so tight to his collar that his knuckles turned white, and it seemed as if he daren’t let go.

None of us, not even young Theo, said it aloud, but I reckon he and Marigold had the same thought I did, and more than once: ‘If only Sam would come.’ For not all the kingsfoil or mustard plasters or thyme and honey tea in Middle-earth could bring Mr. Frodo healing if his mind and will were working against him. What he needed to heal those was Sam, and I didn’t like to think what might happen if Sam was too long in arriving or, worse, if Theo’s message had somehow gone astray.

That night we sent Theo off to bed against his protests, but the lad was exhausted and needed rest. When we were alone, Marigold said quietly, ‘If Frodo dies, Ruby, I’m afraid it will kill our Sam.’ She stared down at Mr. Frodo, lying there so pitiful, for the fever had wasted him and his eyes were sunken and his hands so thin. Tears filled her eyes. ‘He loves him more than anyone or anything, and always has, and I don’t believe they can be without each other and survive.’

I put my arm around Marigold, and said as strong as I could, ‘Mari, Mr. Frodo don’t look like dying just yet. ‘Tis too soon for tears.’ Then I gave her a bracing hug. ‘Now you go along and have a lie down. I’ll wake you in a few hours.’

Wiping her eyes on her apron, Marigold did as I bid her; she’s nursed her husband and little ‘uns often enough to know that you have to take rest when you can get it. It don’t do no good to get needlessly run-down.

After she left, I crumbled more kingsfoil in a basin of water, and sat beside Mr. Frodo. As I sponged away the sweat from his poor drawn face, and his shoulders and chest, Marigold’s words came back to me: _I don’t believe they can be without each other and survive._ There was a thin pink scar on Mr. Frodo’s right shoulder, and I recalled how he’d held his maimed hand to it and said something about _athelas_ and someone named Strider. He’d been hurt on their journey in more ways than one, seemingly, and maybe that explained why he couldn’t find healing without Sam.

‘Mr. Frodo,’ I said aloud to him, hoping he could hear me, ‘don’t you go giving up, sir. Sam will come.’

And then a very queer thing happened (and you may believe me or not as you choose). Huan had been lying quiet-like beside Mr. Frodo, and watching me at my work with those bright eyes of his, as he liked to do. Well, all of a sudden he sprang bolt upright, as if he’d heard some sound that I couldn’t hear. His ears went up, and then he pointed his muzzle at the ceiling and let out such a howl as I’d never heard in my life. It raised the hairs on the back of my neck and sent a shiver down my spine.

For a moment I had a dreadful fear that Mr. Frodo had passed, but his chest was rising and falling under my hand. And then I heard footsteps pounding down the hall, and next thing I knew, Sam Gamgee himself came busting into the room like a thunderclap. He was still wearing his grey cloak, and his feet and legs were all over dirt and his hair was wild. His eyes went straight to Mr. Frodo, and a cry escaped his lips. I hope never to hear such a cry as that again in my life.

Well, I had scarce enough time to gather up my things and move out of the way afore Sam was in my place. He picked up Mr. Frodo’s maimed hand that was lying limp on the blanket and cradled it between his own. There were tears running down his cheeks.

‘Frodo, Frodo my dear, wake up,’ he said in such a tender voice it sent a thrill right through me, and I ain’t ashamed to admit it. Then he leaned down and kissed Mr. Frodo on the cheek and said, ‘Wake up, Frodo dear. It’s your Sam, I’ve come.’

And Mr. Frodo did wake up, just like that. His eyes that had been closed these two days past came open, and he said in a wondering sort of voice, ‘Sam? Is it really you? I looked everywhere for you and I couldn’t find you.’

‘Well, you’ve found me, Frodo dear,’ Sam replied gently, ‘and you don’t have to look no more. It’s really me, I’m here.’ He heaved a shuddering sort of breath, and said, ‘Foolish Baggins, thinking I’d gone and left you. As if I ever would.’ But his tears were dripping onto the blanket.

Mr. Frodo raised his hand and cupped Sam’s cheek. ‘Don’t cry, my dearest,’ he whispered, stroking away a tear with his thumb, ‘all will be well now, I promise,’ and oh, there was such radiance in his eyes as nearly blinded me, like as if I was staring straight into the sun. It was too much to bear; I felt as if I was seeing something I had no right to be a witness to. So I quietly set down the basin on the dresser, and stole away to Marigold’s room to give her the good news.

~*~

Next morning when I got to Bag End, I found Theo whistling as he pushed a wheelbarrow filled with pots of pinks across the yard. Marigold was singing in the kitchen; I could smell sausages, onions and potatoes cooking as I passed by. I went along to the bedroom, smiling to myself. The hole seemed like a different place today, and no mistake.

A glance at Mr. Frodo’s face when I stepped inside the room was enough to tell me that his fever had broken at last. He had a tea cup in one hand and a slice of toast in the other, and I felt a deep satisfaction at the sight. Like I always say, a hobbit with an appetite is a hobbit on the mend.

Sam was with him, of course, sitting in a chair pulled up close to the bed. When he saw me, he jumped up and before I knew what was happening, his arms went around me, and he lifted me straight off my feet! Why, I could scarce draw a breath he was hugging me so hard.

‘Sam,’ I heard Mr. Frodo protest, and there was a laugh in his voice, ‘put Mistress Ruby down.’

But Sam ignored him.

‘I don’t know how I can ever thank you, Ruby,’ Sam said when he finally let me down. ‘What would have become of Frodo if you hadn’t been here, I don’t like to imagine, and that’s a fact.’

‘Go on with you, Sam Gamgee,’ I said, straightening my skirts, and I couldn’t help but blush. Our Mayor does have a way about him. ‘Now leave me be so’s I can get on with my work.’ Sam just grinned.

I checked Mr. Frodo over carefully. He was still weak, of course, but his pulse was steady and his eyes were clear again. What he needed now was plenty of coddling and building up with nourishing food, as I told Sam.

‘And don’t you go letting him get up from bed too soon,’ I cautioned, turning down the cuffs of my sleeves and buttoning them. ‘Mr. Frodo needs to rest.’

‘Never fear, Ruby,’ Sam replied, ‘he’ll stay in that bed until he’s strong again if Huan, Theo and I have to sit on him.’ And he laughed when Mr. Frodo, looking cross as a fauntling told he can’t go outside to play, called him a tyrant.

When I bid Mr. Frodo farewell, I found myself blushing again, for he not only thanked me very kindly, but to my embarrassment raised my hand to his lips and kissed it, like as if I were some grand gentlehobbit from Great Smials or Brandy Hall.

And as if that weren’t enough flabbergastation for an old hobbit in one morning, Huan jumped off the bed and came and leaned against my legs. His tail was wagging and he looked up at me with them bright eyes of his, and I knew he was thanking me, too, in his way. Didn’t I say he was no ordinary dog? I bent to pet him and he licked my chin, and I laughed.

I waved Sam off when he offered to see me to the door. ‘I can find my own way out, Sam,’ I said, picking up my satchel. ‘You stay with Mr. Frodo.’ _Where you belong,_ I added to myself, for never had two hobbits so clearly belonged to each other as Sam and Mr. Frodo.

~*~

Mr. Frodo is hale and hearty again, I’m happy to say, and many’s the time since I’ve seen him out on his rambles with Huan. Whenever I do, I recall that time and how it was only Sam’s presence that could rouse him from his dark wanderings and bring him back. It ain’t always a healer’s skill that makes the difference, like I said. There are other forces at work, forces of the heart and mind and spirit, and the greatest of them all is love.

~end~


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